Parallel
by et-spiritus-sancti
Summary: Almost every time he said her name he had to pause. Had to savor the sound on his tongue, relishing in the delight of knowing he was allowed to say her name to her face. Not whisper it in the darkness or inside walls as he did so many years ago. OneshotEC


**Hey there, just a little one-shot I was inspired to write. It sort of follows the previous one-shot, "Replica" but you don't need to read that one. Hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Just Lynette.**

Parallel

Ribbons. Dolls. Dresses. Flowers.

Pink slippers. Hairbrushes. Lace. Little shoes.

He stood in his daughter's room, surrounded by these supremely feminine things. Much of it strewn about the floor. Her stuffed animals were dressed with ladies' undergarments. Her bed rumpled and untidy. One thin curtain was twisted in a knot. It often frightened him how similar he and his daughter could be. Not that he dressed anything in ladies' undergarments. He prided himself in his intellect at times; but such intensity he often had when composing frequently resulted in crumpled papers tossed about, ink stains, and now a trail of scuff marks as he tended to pace a portion of the floor. Though his daughter was only seven, she'd learned, or inherited, his ways quite effectively. She was a storyteller, an actress. Her numerous toys he'd spoiled her with were the audience. Her stage was her bed, quite lumpy now that she'd stomped across it for four years. During her "performances," his daughter had taken to leaving the "stage" and using anything in her room as a prop to enhance the presentation. Once used, the prop was carelessly abandoned to the floor, with little chance of being replaced in its proper spot.

Erik and his wife had raised their daughter to be a little lady, but behind closed doors, young Lynette seemed to try her best to emulate a savage. Clever imp she could be though. Polite as a majesty's princess for guests. But she was inclined to be wild and extraordinary when she felt the calling. She possessed a limitless amount of energy, as Erik did at times. Unable to sleep because the mind and the creativity that stirred within him could not be contained. Though as he'd grown older, Erik learned to calm himself. He'd learned to suppress his imagination, mostly for his wife's sake. Christine had eventually grown tired of waking up to an empty bed and the distant sound of piano keys being "beautifully assaulted" as she'd called it.

The intoxicating giggle of Lynette filtered in through the open window. The white curtains stirred softly (all but the knotted upholstery which hung depressingly still) in the gentle breeze, almost as if the happiness emanating from his daughter's laugh was strong enough to move them. Erik blinked away his thoughts, trying to remember instead why he was in this bedroom, so often used as the entrance to the impenetrable and incomprehensible world of a seven-year-old girl.

A toy elephant sent from the Daroga some time back suddenly fell from it's precarious position, balanced on the edge of her dresser. It landed on the oak floorboards with a clunk. The sound jostled his memory and Erik recalled his wife asking him to straighten up the girl's room. He frowned, knowing this was punishment for something, as Christine usually made Lynette clean up after herself. What had he done? Taken all the covers in the night? Said something out of turn? Whatever it was, it had been bothering his wife all week, and when he'd made the mistake of asking her, she snapped at him, saying that if he couldn't teach _his_ daughter to clean her room, then why didn't _he_ give it a try? Now Erik was accustomed to a woman's sudden outburst. It had frightened him at first until it was explained to him by a close male friend (namely the Daroga) that women did this at times and he shouldn't take it personally. But this time his beloved seemed particularly upset—no, upset wasn't the right word. _Anxious_. And it had gone on for longer than the usual week.

Erik made for the wooden elephant, placing it on the shelves designed to hold and display Lynette's various toys, but it seemed to do a better job collecting dust, as her playthings hardly touched the shelves for long before being taken down again. Erik then glanced out the window as he tackled the knot in the curtain. Lynette jumped and skipped about in the backyard below, a stick in her hand that she lunged into her imaginary opponent. Her brown curly locks were in complete disarray, only enhancing her savage appearance. Christine was comfortable as she reclined in her chaise lounge and read her book. Though he stood two stories up, he could see her features plainly as the sunlight danced upon them. Her delicate brows were drawn in thoughtfully and she was biting her lip. Her concentration was completely on the manuscript in her hands, her ears accustomed to the noise Lynette often made while playing. But after admiring his wife for a full minute, he saw that she hadn't moved her head to read as she usually did, or even turn a page. She wasn't reading, but mulling over something that disturbed her.

Erik sighed sadly. He'd moved them to the country to be away from stressful atmospheres—and most importantly, painful memories. But whatever was bothering her, she wasn't planning on telling him soon. Or perhaps this was simply just a particularly bad "mood" the Daroga had warned him about those years ago. Whatever it was, Erik was thankfully receiving the brunt of it. The last thing he wanted was for Lynette to discover such monthly "moods" and start imitating her mother.

Lynette's taunts against her opponent suddenly ceased and Erik heard the stick hit water as his daughter flung it into the nearby pond. A few of the ducks bobbing peacefully on the surface of the water squawked in protest. He next heard the back door swing open accompanied by the maid's sharp reprimand that Lynette shouldn't behave so. After that, the patter of little feet raced up the stairs and neared her room. She must have seen him at her window. Erik prepared himself for the little whirlwind to enter the room. He instinctively put a hand to his mask, making sure it was straight and secure.

"Papa! What are you doing? I like the curtain that way! Did you see me fencing? A brave knight I'd make, wouldn't I? Those Brits wouldn't stand a chance! I pretend I'm Joan of Arc in the Hundred Years War! Was it really a hundred years long, Papa?" Lynette had went straight to her bed and was currently engaging in battle again, this time using a stray pencil as a sword and pillow as a shield. Her feet had no coordination at all and were soon tangled in the sheets. If she were ever called to defend herself, she'd be down by the enemies' first stroke of the sword.

Erik had to smile. "Perhaps some training and you might just be fit to be a knight."

Lynette dropped the pencil and plopped down stomach-first on the bed, her arms crossed over the pillow. "You really think so, Papa?" Her incredible eyes sparkled. The right one, a luxurious honey orb, gleamed with seriousness, while the playful blue-green depths of her left eye glittered with wonderment. Erik loved his daughter's eyes with a passion. This was one reason that held him from letting her go to a school. Other children wouldn't appreciate the beauty in her eyes. They'd tease her. Erik wouldn't be able to stand it if his daughter came home with those gorgeous orbs of hers red and glistening with tears. So he taught her at home. Besides, he gathered she'd get a better education without the constant distraction of other students. And as it turned out, Lynette proved to be quite bright and absorbed anything placed in front of her. History was most certainly her forte though. Mathematics he was sure she would be quite content to live without.

Erik curved the corner of his lips into a half smile and tapped the tip of his daughter's little nose. "I know so, Lynette. You could lead men anywhere if you're brave enough."

The back door opened and shut again, distracting them both. Erik waited with tension for his wife to call his name so she could complain about something. Even Lynette sensed the apprehension and she stared at her open door. Christine walked slowly up the stairs, passing the bedroom without acknowledging either of them. Her form walked without purpose, like a lost angel that had fallen from Heaven. The sound of their bedroom door closing echoed in the hallway. Lynette moved off her stomach and rose to her knees so her head reached the height of his chest.

"Is Mummy alright, Papa?"

Erik sighed, tucking a wild curl of hair behind the girl's ear. "Lynette, do us a favor and straighten up a bit in here, hm? We don't want your room looking like the Hundred Years War do we?"

Lynette pursed her lips and then nodded. "No, Papa, we don't."

Taking in a deep breath, Erik went into the hallway, closing Lynette's door. As he made for their bedroom, Erik thought about what he would say. Start out softly and slowly. It would be no use forcing anything out of Christine. She spoke her mind when she wanted to. He hesitated just opening the door, so instead he knocked. He received a muffled response, but with Erik's still exquisite hearing, he made out her weak, "not now."

"Christine, it's me. May I come in?"

A pause. A moment later the door opened and his wife allowed him entry. The first part of the plan had worked. If he'd simply barged in and demanded to know what was causing her sorrow, he would've been kicked out like a stray dog. Christine returned to her spot where she sat on the edge of the bed. Her long hair was down today and it hung in front of her face. The curtains had been drawn and only streams of sunlight fought their way through. One golden streak shone on the side of Christine's face like a scar. Erik cautiously sat down next to her on the bed, resting a hand over hers, which was balled into a fist over her thigh. She twitched, like she wanted to pull away, but she must have remembered so many years ago the issues Erik had with fear of rejection. He'd mostly learned to ignore the fear, but if Christine had pulled away at that moment, Erik might have impulsively left the room in mild fury. Instead, he tightened his hand over hers and waited for her to speak first. The five-minute wait was worth it.

"I thought the sunlight might make me feel better," Christine murmured, "I think the darkness works."

Erik studied her face. Seeing no anger, he thought it safe to speak. "Christine," Erik paused. Almost every time he said her name he had to pause. Had to savor the sound on his tongue, relishing in the delight of knowing he was allowed to say her name to her face. Not whisper it in the darkness or inside walls as he did so many years ago.

"Christine, you know I worship you, my love. I would do anything for you. I've endured your silence and your...outbursts over the past two weeks," Christine looked at him apologetically, but he continued, "But I cannot tolerate your pain. Please tell me what is wrong."

Christine stared into his eyes, searching him. Her dark, penetrating eyes then wandered to his mask. She hated his mask. She'd wanted him to stop wearing it once Lynette was born, so she would be used to his...other face. But Erik refused. When Lynette asked about the mask, Erik simply told her there was nothing extraordinary to see underneath and the mask was for fashion purposes. The then four-year-old accepted the answer for the time being, but Erik caught Lynette staring at the mask periodically. Somehow, Lynette seemed to sense it was a sensitive topic and hadn't asked again. Or perhaps Christine had told her about his face.

All these thoughts disappeared when he suddenly felt cool air touch the right side of his face. Erik made to raise his hand instinctively, but halted. It did not bother him anymore if Christine saw him. He simply preferred she not. He closed his eyes though when Christine's cool hand touched his marred cheek. She then stroked the side of his face with the back of her hand. He listened to her exhale a trembling sigh.

"I love you, Erik," She whispered, "I love Lynette. This house. This life."

Erik opened his eyes, stirring under her strong gaze. "But?"

Her hand dropped from his face and she lowered her eyes to the mask in the lap. Her face contorted slightly as tears formed behind her eyes and she sniffed softly. "But I'm afraid, Erik."

He didn't want to ask "of what." He was too fearful of what she might say. She said all those things about love. The love for him and their child. But obviously something was unsatisfactory. Perhaps she'd stopped loving him as her husband. There were all kinds of love, right? Maybe his passion for her was too much for her to handle. Eight years of him worshipping every part of her body and mind. Had it worn her too thin?

Erik's grip on her hand loosened. When she felt it, Christine glanced at him in question. "Erik, it's not you." He blinked in surprise. Had he spoken all of those thoughts? No, she must have read his expression. He always considered himself talented at expressing emotion through his countenance.

Erik tried to swallow the lump forming in his throat. "Then w—why are you afraid, Christine?"

She fought back tears, trying to gather enough of herself to explain. "Erik, Lynette is becoming so beautiful. She has so much talent. She's happy. And she admires you so."

Erik dipped his chin knowingly. "She admires you as well, Christine."

Christine actually smiled. The first one to brighten her face in days. "She _idolizes_ you, Erik." But the smile gave way to a frown and she looked away, standing from the bed. She ambled to the window, squinting at the beam of light that still managed to shine through from where the curtain met the wall and assault her eye. She glanced over at the painting next to the window. A painting of Lynette when she was three with her perfect cherub face and chubby hands, still carrying her puppy fat. Christine placed a hand on the dark wooden frame, elaborate in design. A frame Erik had carved himself.

"Erik," She whispered with a tremble, "we haven't talked of more children."

Erik blinked in surprise. Yes, she was right, but was it something to get so upset about? Erik had agonized over the thought at one time. He saw Lynette as a miracle— a one-time miracle. He in no way wanted to pass his deformity onto another. He figured Christine felt the same way. But if she wanted more children...

Erik stood and joined her at the window, wrapping his arms around her waist, a waist two inches bigger. Two inches she had griped about for years after having Lynette. He loved those two extra inches. To Erik, a little more of Christine was nothing to complain about. He loved the feeling of holding her in his arms, her protector. The one she loved and gave herself willingly to. She trusted him with their lives and her heart. He could ask for nothing else.

"Do you want another child?" Erik asked, his head resting against hers. She entangled her hands with his, which had crossed over her abdomen.

"Do you?" Her voice had lowered and she looked at him with hope in her eyes a tear trickled down her pale cheek.

Erik only thought for a moment. "I'd have ten children with you, Christine," he paused, "but I don't want them to be like me. Chance dictates that one of them would."

Christine shook her head. "You don't know that. Neither of your parents were..." she let the sentence trail for his sake, "and I don't want to live in fear, Erik. I would accept our child no matter how it looked. I only worry for you and how you would feel about it. I worry about what could happen to our child in the future. People are unforgiving, as you know."

Erik fought back the memories of just how unforgiving people could be. "I too would love the child unconditionally. But I would hide him from the world. I'd have to."

"Forever? You can't live forever, Erik."

Erik hated that word. "Can't." Most of his life he was constantly reminded of all the things he "couldn't" do. But Christine spoke truth. He wasn't to live forever. Not ten years ago, he would have been content with that. But now, he had people in his life that made him want to live for all eternity if it meant taking care of his family.

"Erik," Christine turned herself around, still in his embrace. She brought her hands to his shoulders and searched his eyes entirely, "Answer me honestly. Do you want another child? Would you be able to handle the possibility that it might not be...perfect?"

Erik drew her close as possible, feeling a slight frenzy in his head. The same sensation he always had when he was this close to her. "If you wish it, I do. If you do not wish to risk anything, I—" his voice cracked slightly, "I can be content with that as well."

Christine seemed to relax instantly and she planted a kiss on his marred cheek. Erik had to grin. Tonight would be most wonderful after everyone else went to bed. "I'm so glad you said that, Erik. Because I'm pregnant."

Erik's smile dropped and his eyes narrowed. "How—when did we..."

"Three weeks ago, darling, you remember...or perhaps you don't. My birthday. You broke out that bottle of port..."

Erik remembered the port. The rest of the night and the next morning was a haze. But Christine pregnant? Erik shook his head incredulously. "Well, w—what would you have done if I'd said no? If I didn't want more children?"

She shrugged. "I would have told you eventually and...I'm not sure what we would have done after that. I'd rather not think on it, Erik. Please, at least pretend to be happy!"

Oh, he was ecstatic, now that the thought was finally processing. Christine pregnant! Lynette would be hysterical with excitement. Erik felt the smile on his face and he leaned down to plant a kiss on his wife's lips. He'd swooped down so quickly, Christine was taken aback for a moment, but she smiled under his lips and kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his neck. Stopping to breathe, she caressed his cheek.

"I love you," She whispered.

Before Erik could respond, a little knock emanated from the door. Erik immediately stalked across the room to retrieve the mask on the bed.

"Mummy! Papa! I've got a play for you!" Her muffled voice rang out from behind the door.

Erik fitted the mask over his face. "Lynette, you were supposed to be cleaning your room." He said with a slight reproach in his tone.

Lynette didn't say anything for about ten seconds. "But I've got a song for it and everything!"

Christine put a hand on Erik's arm. "We'll be out in a moment, Lynette."

At that, Lynette's little footsteps bounded away to her room. Erik sighed before turned to his wife, giving her a cheeky smile. "Tonight, after everyone's asleep..."

Christine's brows drew in. "Erik!" She slapped his arm lightly, "You know very well it's against our faith to do such a thing while I'm with child!"

His expression dropped a few degrees and his enthusiasm deflated. "But it's not fair that I don't remember last time, _dear_."

Christine pouted mockingly and patted his cheek. "Don't worry, _dear_, only another nine months." With that, Christine opened the door and turned her head back once, smiling slyly before continuing down the hall to Lynette's room.

Erik stood motionless in their bedroom, mouth slightly agape. "Nine months..." He let the thought trail off grimly. Hanging his head in defeat, Erik slowly closed their bedroom door, giving a remorseful glance at the four-poster bed.

He could hear Lynette already starting, her powerful young voice reaching heights unusual for any other child. He smiled. Or until this next child reached the age to sing. He may have beautiful children. He may have...different children. But each of them would be talented in their own way. Each of them he and Christine would love and protect. For the rest of his life—however long God intended that to be.

END

Junky? Please review!


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